


Ashes to Ashes

by ZosiaRose



Category: Cinderella (Fairy Tale)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-11-19 21:29:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11322117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZosiaRose/pseuds/ZosiaRose
Summary: Based loosely on the story of Cinderella. With a few changes of course.





	1. Up In Smoke

I was running. Fast. I had to get out of the house. I had to get away. My lungs burned with the effort of pulling in more oxygen. Smoke poured into my eyes, my throat, my nose, making me cough violently. Somewhere in the back of my mind I dimly remembered a field trip to the fire department, a demonstration. Smoke rises, leaving a pocket of semi-clean air behind. I was supposed to get closer to the floor. I got down on my hands and knees and scrambled over to the door. My fingertips brushed the shining metal of the doorknob only to be snatched away again as they were scorched by the seemingly innocuous object. It was not possible to escape that way. I scanned my room for other possible exits, pulling the front of my shirt over my nose and mouth as a sort of shield against the smoke. My eyes locked onto the only other available way out. The window. It felt like an eternity before I was finally beside it. The heat had increased. I felt like I was being baked alive. I could tell that the inferno was getting closer. I was desperate. I thrust the window open with all of my adrenaline fueled strength, I barely noticed when one of the panes broke and showered me in glass shards. Taking a fraction of a moment to look down, I gulped in as much of the fresh air as possible. There was two stories of pitch black nothingness between me and the ground, between me and safety. I jumped.

My eyes flew open before I reached the ground. Safe. I was safe. I tried to force my erratic breathing back to normal. It was just a nightmare. It was over. That fact did little to stem the steady flow of tears that cascaded down my face. They were gone. Mom and Dad were dead. They died in the fire. My heart ached with grief. The same grief that had plagued me since I landed on the front yard and watched helplessly as my entire world went up in smoke. I shook myself both mentally and physically. I couldn’t dwell on the past, I’d already tried that. It didn’t work. The past stayed in the past, no matter how pleasant or bleak. Sitting up, I gazed out the window at the rising sun. It didn’t seem right that something so exquisite could come at a time that was so desolate and gloomy. The golden sunlight fell on the bed next to mine, illuminating the pale face of my adopted sister and best friend, Nadia. After the fire, Nadia’s dad took me in. David became like a second father, being the only one who could lift me out of my self-dug pit of grief. Over the course of a few years he gradually helped me go back to the boy I was before. I never forgot my Mom and Dad but I slowly learned how to live without them.

Nadia’s mother, Beatrix, had died before I came to live with them and although their grief was still there it had dulled somewhat with time. Nadia was a cheerful, well-rounded girl. It didn’t seem as if she wanted for anything. David obviously thought differently when he decided that she needed a new mother. Despite our initial misgivings, Nadia and I decided that if it would make David happy, we were all for it. We helped him set up accounts on every online dating site we could think of, picked outfits for speed dating, and coached him on what to say on the first date. Every time he met a new woman, he wasn’t satisfied. He wanted only the best for Nadia and me. After he had been searching for several months, he met Kallista. He was infatuated immediately with her dazzling beauty and sparkling wit. Once they had gone on the appropriate number of dates he brought her home for us to meet her.

David was a nervous wreck that evening, fretting over dinner, his appearance, the house, and just about everything else he could think of. In an effort to alleviate his nervousness, Nadia and I had cleaned the house from top to bottom and had our best clothes on. Nadia wore a loose fitting dress the same cinereal color as her eyes and at her behest I wore a button-down shirt of the same shade. By the time that Kallista arrived, all three of us were lined up by the front door. We greeted her with smiles and ushered her inside. Our eyes grew wide when two girls about mine and Nadia’s age followed. They were both dressed in matching gold sequined dresses and heels. Carbon copies of their mother, they smirked at us. Kallista laughed at our shocked faces and introduced us to her daughters, Lilith and Mariel.

Kallista and the girls moved into our house the day after the wedding. It took three moving vans to carry all of their stuff across town. The unpacking took forever to finish. I had to move my things into Nadia’s room, as there were only three bedrooms in the house. My bedroom was given to my new step-sisters. David had promised that this sleeping arrangement would only last for a couple days while he and Kallista went house-hunting. It was two weeks later and the new house was _still_ not found.

The grandfather clock striking the hour jolted me out of my bittersweet rememberings. It was six o’clock, long before anyone else was awake. The house was quiet, a rare occurrence now that six people lived there. If I got up now, I could finish my project without the constant distractions provided by my step-family. Tiptoeing across the room, I groped around my desk for my sketchbook. Not finding it, I quietly switched on the light, glancing back toward Nadia at the clicking sound it made. I looked under stacks of books, shoved aside my container of colored pencils, combed through my bookbag. It wasn’t there. Where had I used it last? Groaning softly, I remembered. The living room. I had left it on the coffee table. I had to go get it before Lilith or Mariel saw it. They had been demanding to see it for days. I had no doubt that they would look through it at once if given the chance. I had to get it back.

The door gave a slight creak as I opened it, causing me to pause in the doorway in case someone heard. When no other noises could be heard, I creeped down the stairs and down the hallway, only to pause again when I saw light from the living room slanting across the floorboards. I peeked around the open door to find out who was in there. If it was Kallista or one of the girls I decided that I would abandon my sketchbook and hope with all my heart that they didn’t see it. My fears weren’t fulfilled, however, as the person in the room was only David. He smiled when he saw me and asked, “Why are you up so early?”

“I had one of my nightmares and couldn’t go back to sleep,” I picked up my newly found sketchbook and sat next to him.

He frowned, “You still have those?”

“I never stopped having them,” I flipped to a blank page, contemplating what to draw.

“You want to talk about it?”

I decided to draw the view out the window, “Not really.”

It was silent for a few moments, then I spoke again, “Why are _you_ up so early?”

“I had trouble sleeping too,” he sighed, then changed the subject, “Sorry about not being around much lately.”

Every opportunity Nadia or I had to spend more than a few seconds with him seemed to be commandeered by Kallista or Lilith or Mariel.

“It’s all right,” I shrugged.

“No, it’s not,” he sighed again but let the issue drop, “What’re you drawing?”

I turned the sketchbook towards him. By that time, I had completed the outline of one of the neighbor’s houses and was starting on the next. Silence fell again, not entirely uncomfortable. I finished the drawing just as the clock struck eight. Surprised, I tucked my pencil in my pocket and held my sketchbook in the crook of my arm. I guess I was pretty engrossed in my drawing. I mean, you kind of have to be to not notice two hours go by. David stood and headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. The others would be up soon.


	2. It'll Be Like An Adventure

The delectable smell of blueberry pancakes had filled the kitchen by the time that Nadia came in. She poured herself a glass of orange juice and sat across from me at the table. David grinned at her bleary eyes and mussed hair, “Sleep well?”

Nodding, she asked, “Are Kallista and the girls up yet?”

“No, they stayed up late last night looking at houses online. None of them were up to their standards. There’s always some minor detail wrong with them. I have a feeling that we’re going to have to build a whole new house for them,” he shook his head.

Nadia laughed and sipped at her juice, “Do you have work today?”

“Yeah, I leave in about an hour,” David thought for a moment as he transferred the bubbling pancakes to a platter, “I...um...actually... well, I have a surprise for you two.”

My answer was immediate, “What is it?”

David just laughed and set the platter in front of Nadia and me, “You’ll just have to wait and see. But for now, dig in.”

All three of us did so, not even bothering to get plates out of the cupboard. With our voracious appetite, the stack of pancakes was devoured in a snap. David beckoned us to follow him and led us to the living room where we glanced around at the periwinkle blue couch, the red oak coffee table, the curtains with the flower pattern. Finding nothing out of place, we gazed at him, utterly confused. He walked over to the bookcase and pulled out two well-worn, cloth bound books, one a blood red and the other a deep blue. He spoke softly, “These are notebooks that belonged to your mothers before they died. They used them as diaries,” he handed the blue one to me and the red one to Nadia, “I want you to read through them. I...um...I guess I’m giving them to you so you don’t forget. Even though Kallista and the girls have become part of your family now, I don’t want you to forget about the family that you both have lost.”

I stared at the unassuming little thing in my hands, tears welling up in the corner of my eyes. This book belonged to my mom? She wrote on these pages? A tear splashed on the cover, darkening the blue color. How had this survived? How did an extremely flammable bundle of papers manage to escape a terrible inferno unscathed? I glanced up to find David’s bronze hued eyes peering at me, as if looking into the depths of my soul. Funny, David was the only one who could look at me like that. No one else even came close. The knot in my throat had grown immense. It felt like I was being strangled. Not trusting myself to speak, I tried to voice my question through my eyes. When David answered, he sounded like he was wondering the same thing, “Constance left it here by accident the day before the fire.”

Constance. Mom. The tears really did fall now, shattering the fragile barrier that had kept most of them at bay. An accident. That’s all it was. The notebook was saved by a mere accident. I threw my arms around David, trying to put all of my gratefulness and sincerity into one hug. He stiffened at first, a little awkward, then returned my hug with a gentle fierceness. After an instant of indecision, Nadia joined in. And there we stood, each trying to convey unspoken and unspeakable emotions and reassurances through one instant of contact. All too soon, the moment was broken by the sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs and sickeningly sweet calls of “Daddy!” The girls had known David for a mere couple of months and already they had dubbed him their father. It made me want to puke.

Nadia and I glanced at each other and quickly headed outside, leaving the sloppy kisses and promises of making breakfast soon behind. Sharing the same idea, we both plopped down on the grass and opened the faded front covers. I flipped to the first page. It was dated June 5, the day I was born. I read and read and read and read, never wanting Mom’s elegant cursive to stop. I read about my first words, my first steps, the first time I met Nadia, the hours that Dad would spend teaching me to draw, the lullabies sung late at night after a bad dream. My whole life was documented within the yellowed pages. I read about stolen moments she spent with Dad, parties at David and Beatrix’s house, the aftermath of Beatrix’s death. The last entry was on January 19, the last day that would ever be the right kind of normal, the day before my entire world crashed to a halt, the day before the fire. Memories flashed through my mind of that day, only to be interrupted by someone gently shaking my shoulder. My eyes fluttered open to find Nadia standing over me, grinning. I must have fallen asleep after I finished reading Mom’s diary. I sat up and rubbed the sleep out my eyes, “What time is it?”

“It’s four. Come on, Dad just got home and wants to talk to us,” she grasped my arm and pulled me inside, where David, Kallista, and the girls were already sitting at the table. I took my place, Mom’s diary still grasped tightly in the crook of my arm. As Nadia sat beside me Kallista twisted her delicate face into a smile that looked more like a grimace.

David grinned sloppily back at her, then turned to face us, “I found a house.”

“Where?” Nadia’s question was immediate.

“Portland, Oregon,” his voice held a trace of apprehension, as if he was more uncertain about moving there from small-town Maine then he let himself show.

I almost couldn’t believe it. Portland,  _ Oregon?  _ Why there? My lips parted to form the question but Lilith was quicker, “What? Why?”

David sighed slightly, “A colleague of mine just moved here from there. Her old house is still on the market and she offered it to me below list price. I’ve looked at some photos and think that it would work perfectly.”

Mariel got up and hugged him, saying, “If you think that it is, then it must be so, Daddy.”

“Alright, we can start packing tomorrow and move in next week. Go practice your dancing, girls, I’m going to talk to Daddy about the planning,” Kallista herded the girls toward their room.

Nadia and I stood to go too, but David hurriedly blocked our path. His anxiety was written more plainly on his face now, the mask was unneeded, “Are you two okay with this? I mean,  _ really  _ okay with this. No pretending just for my benefit.”

We smiled and Nadia spoke, “Of course we’re okay with this Dad. It’ll be like an adventure.”

The worried expression lifted and he enveloped us in a quick hug, “You guys are great. I don’t know what I would do without you,” and then he was off to find Kallista and discuss the details of the move across the country.

One thing led to another and before we knew it, we were standing in front of our new home. Victorian in style, it reminded me a bit of the castle at Disneyland. I had never gone but I’d seen pictures. It seemed to loom before me, large and unmovable, giving me the faint idea of a mountain. I took a deep breath and headed through the door, Mom’s notebook tucked securely in my bookbag, nestled next to my sketchpad and colored pencils.


	3. In This Weather?

 

The room was dark and musty, the only light slanting through the shuttered windows. A layer of grime and dust had settled over everything, making me sneeze as it was whipped up by my entrance. I paused in the doorway to take it all in. The house had only been vacant for a few years and it was already a mess, one of the windows was broken, the furniture had been taken away by the previous owners, the remains of what looked like a bird nest lay in the fireplace. I let out the breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. It wasn’t terrible. Disheveled, yes, but not unfixable. It merely needed a bit of elbow grease and tough love to restore it to its former glory.

A hand on my shoulder caused me to whirl around. David’s bronze eyes sparkled in amusement at my reaction, “What do you think?”

“Nothing a little hard work won’t fix.”

“Good. As soon as the others come in, we’ll get started on a game plan.”

Nadia came in next, lugging her backpack behind her. Knowing her, it was probably filled to the point of bursting with books. They were her security blanket, at least one was with her at all times to cling to if needed. Kallista crossed the threshold behind her, with Mariel and Lilith closely following their mother as always.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

Over the course of a few weeks the cleaning was mostly finished. A winter storm had descended upon the city, with pelting rain and booming thunder and flashing lightning. We sat in front of the lit fireplace in the front room, discussing the plans for the next day. Kallista was rambling about the shade of green she wanted David to paint their bedroom, “David, dear, do you think that you could go to store and get the paint for me?”

David tilted his head slightly, “What?”

“I asked if you would go to the store for the paint.”

“In this weather?”

Kallista smiled thinly, “Yes, plenty of people go out in this kind of storm all the time. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Well...okay. But only because you asked me to. See you when I get back,” and with a smile and a wave he was heading out into the downpour. Later, when we got the news I would ask myself questions with no answer. Why did I let him get into his car? Why didn’t I cling onto him and never let him leave? Why did he decide to drive to the store right then instead of waiting until the rain had cleared? Why? Why?  _ Why? _

We waited for hours in front of that horrible fireplace, me drawing Nadia while she read and Kallista instructing the girls in how best to wear stilettos. The sharp knock on the door only came as the sun peeked over the horizon, illuminating the dark blue of police uniforms. It turns out that the rain had made the roads slick and slippery and that in turn caused David to lose control of his car and crash it into a tree. He died on impact, never felt a thing. At least, that’s what the police officer told us. I didn’t want to believe it. I  _ couldn’t  _ believe it, I refused to. David couldn’t be dead. It was impossible. I couldn’t have lost them all. No.  _ No! _ I don’t remember much about the days between when we were told and the funeral. My brain just shut down. It couldn’t handle it. Sure, I got up every morning, did the everyday things, but I didn’t think about it. I didn’t think about anything really. It was like I was on autopilot, merely doing as I always did and nothing more. I spent most of my time either staring off into space or sketching. I filled page after page of my sketchbook with drawings of David, of Nadia, of telephone poles, of the cars that passed by on the road, anything and everything.

When all the weeping relatives and curious neighbors had left the house, after David was little more than another headstone in a graveyard, Kallista showed her true colors. When David was alive, she had assumed the role of doting mother to Nadia and me. It never looked like she actually meant it, though. That was a source of constant awkwardness in the household. Now that David was dead she had free rein to do whatever she wanted. In his will, he left everything to her, the house, the money, and, of course, Nadia and me. She was furious. She fumed all over the house about how it wasn’t fair, about how she didn’t want to have two extra mouths to feed, about how she didn’t want to get a job. That’s what shook me out of my daze, her transformation. Well, that and the shock of my new life. My room was taken over by a large amount of Mariel’s clothes and shoes, acting as a sort of makeshift closet, while Lilith moved into Nadia’s.

We were forced to move into the attic, the only place in the house that we hadn’t gotten around to renovating yet. The roof was still leaky, the sole window was still drafty, the walls were still only whitewashed brick. The only furniture was a rickety old table by the window and two lumpy mattresses leaning against the wall along with some cardboard boxes containing who knew what. We set to work immediately. Nadia swept and gave the window a wash, while I went through the boxes to see if I could scavenge anything that would be of use. Curtains were hung, books were put up on shelves, sheets and blankets were tucked around the thin mattresses, the light bulb hanging from the ceiling had been replaced with a new one. On the first night, I couldn’t sleep. I just stared up at the cracks in the ceiling and listened to the sound of rain on the roof. The pitter-pat of the drops had been relaxing once upon a time, but now, with everything upside down, it simply became a mantra of all the things that had gone wrong. It bored into my skull until I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I wanted to make it stop with all my heart. Eventually, I slipped into an uneasy sleep, only being woken when Kallista’s shrill voice called up the stairs, “Nadia! Asher! Get down here! Right now!”

She shoved a crumpled piece of paper into my tired hands and shooed us away, screeching all the while to “Get to work!”

The length of the list was long enough to make Nadia gasp as we gazed at it in disbelief. It called for us to sweep the floors, wash the windows, scrub the kitchen and bathroom counters, do the laundry, wash the dishes, make the beds, mow the lawn, water and weed the garden, take out the trash and recycling, cook the meals, and generally put everything back in its place. So began the first day of the rest of our lives.


	4. The New Neighbors

Two years passed, though it felt like every one of the 730 days was double that. Most days were exactly like the one before: wake up, get dressed, do chores, get reprimanded for our work not being up to expectations, go to sleep, repeat.  Though, that day ended up being the complete opposite of normal. However regularly it began, I no longer can remember it without thinking of what came after it. When I woke that morning, my body ached but I ignored it, writing it off as a familiar side effect of my life. My watch read 4 o’clock, too early to need to do anything for another half hour. I glanced at Nadia, debating whether to wake her up to hang out or just let her sleep. We had stayed up late the night before finishing the girls’ history essays. 

Anyway, Nadia looked even more exhausted than usual so I decided against waking her and got my sketchbook out instead, wanting to put the finishing touches on a sketch I had started the day before. It was a simple one this time, a depiction of a memory from before this new normal. Before I could begin, however, I needed to find some light. It was still pitch black out, the batteries in my flashlight were dead, and if I pulled the cord to turn the sole lightbulb in the room on, the noise and the brightness would wake Nadia. I finally settled on going outside and using the porch light. It was pouring rain and almost freezing but the weather didn’t bother me in the least. I’d been through a lot worse. So I tiptoed down the stairs and out the door, careful to avoid the spots where the wooden floors creaked. I flipped the lightswitch and made sure the door was locked behind me. Kallista would’ve been furious if she found out that I left the door unlocked at night.

I had just finished the last stroke of my pencil when a car pulled into the driveway next door, the one that had been for sale for a few weeks. Nadia and I had watched the progress of the real estate agents and their clients. They had gone on and on about how “family-friendly” and how “fashionable” our neighborhood was, playing up the old Victorian houses and downplaying the fact that most of the supposedly family-friendly houses were, in fact, inhabited by ill-tempered seniors.  The for sale sign had been taken down the day before and the hole the post left, filled. As I watched, a man and a woman got out of the car, illuminated by the motion-activated porch light on what I assumed was their new home. The woman had auburn hair down to her waist and wore a trendy charcoal gray pea coat. The man was slim and willowy and carried a cardboard box labeled “Books”. The man held his hand out to the woman who took it and walked with him to the front door, calling behind her to a boy still in the car to follow them. The boy had hair the same color as the woman, though his wasn’t nearly as long. He had a well-worn messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his wire rimmed glasses were crooked. He had nearly gotten to the door when I realized that I’d been staring and that I needed to go back inside before I was caught. I stood quickly, letting my sketchbook and pencil fall to the floor with a soft thump by accident. It was enough to make the boy turn and look.

His subsequent grin was as crooked as his glasses. He brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and strode over to me. I bit my lip, a nervous habit I’d picked up over the years. I was so nervous that I didn’t notice at first that the boy had picked up my sketchbook and pencil and was holding them out to me. I jumped a bit when he cleared his throat to get my attention. I promptly grabbed them and started to head back inside but the boy’s hand on my shoulder stopped me in my tracks.

“Wait,” his voice was soft and melodic, making me feel warm and safe. I wanted to bask in it forever. No! I couldn’t get distracted. I had chores to do and Nadia would be up soon, if she wasn’t already. But I didn’t want to move from that spot ever again. Maybe I could stay just a  _ few _ more moments.

I turned to face him, “Hello.”

“Hi, yourself. My name’s Alexander Marceau. I’m moving in next door,” he plopped down next to me on the edge of the porch.

I decided to take a chance and joke around a bit. “Asher Emery, at your service, sir,” that got a chuckle out of him.

“So, Asher Emery, what’re you doing up this early?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Alexander.”

Man, his grin was brighter than the stars that shone above us, “You already know why. We’re moving into the house next door. Nice try, though. Your turn.”

“Nightmare. Couldn’t go back to sleep after so I came out here to draw,” it was true. The nightmares had only increased in intensity and frequency after David died. The one that had woken me had been particularly brutal.

“You’re an artist, then. I’ve always wanted to meet an artist.”

“Well, you’ll have to wait a little longer then. My drawings are definitely  _ not _ up to the standards of an artist. They’re little more than doodles.”

He pulled a book from his bag and flipped through it, then read a passage aloud, “ ‘Artist. A person who creates paintings or drawings as a profession or hobby.’ The Oxford dictionary disagrees with you.”

“Fine, I guess I’m an artist. But my drawings still aren’t very good. No matter what I’m called.”

“I beg to differ, Asher Emery. From what I can see your drawings are marvelous,” he gestured to my sketchbook. It was still open to my latest drawing. I blushed and tried to close it but was stopped by Alexander’s hand on my shoulder again, “Who’s it of?”

A long moment passed as I did nothing but stare at the paper. Alexander got up and stretched, working out the kinks in his neck and back. My voice barely rose above a whisper when I answered his question, “My mom and my dad on Christmas Eve. I was seven.”

He grinned his crooked grin and opened his mouth to say something only to be interrupted by my watch. It buzzed against my wrist, yelling at me that it was 4:30, time to wake up and start the day. The noise brought me out of the daze that had fallen over me and brought me back to real life. I mumbled a quick goodbye and apology to Alexander and headed inside, leaving the honey voiced boy blinking in surprise on the front stoop.


End file.
